I fell in love with making my own sourdough bread back in 2013; at first, it was just a shy try. Then it turned into a real journey – that kind of journey which leaves you always wanting for more, wanting to be better and better. That kind of journey in which you know there’s no turning back. A crusty adventure with a fluffy crumb.
There’s something magical in growing your own sourdough, as it is not just a mixture of water and flour, it is a living thing, a ‘sentient being’ who needs to be nurtured and cared for, so that it can develop beautifully and harmoniously. ⠀
Making bread is one of the most beautiful acts of creation I’ve ever experienced. As Bertrand Auboyneau and François Simon wrote in ‘The French Bistro’ :
‘Bread is delicious when heated or toasted. Then it’s like incense during Mass; a meal acquires biblical significance with the sharing of wine and bread. You are no longer at the table, but back at the creation of the world’.
Making bread is, indeed, one of the most beautiful creative acts I’ve ever experienced.
Every bread that comes out of your hands is unique, even when you use the same recipes and the same ingredients, in the same kitchen with the same oven. With every kneading, with every fold, with every touch of the dough, you impregnate the bread with a part of your soul. Which then you share with the others. Undeniably, bread is love.⠀
This year, I rediscovered my passion for sourdough and I fell in love with making bread again, after a long hiatus (as life happened). Baking like mad day and night, in search of the perfect formula, calculating and adjusting, but mostly enjoying the smell of bread when just out of the oven and the smile of family and friends while enjoying it – undeniably, that’s love. A love as honest and simple as a sourdough.⠀